Hot Mess
by TheChronicLiar
Summary: Jack is a barista with a crush on a regular customer.


Jack yawned tiredly against the counter. It was between coffee rushes, the place was empty, and all he wanted was to curl up under the counter and sleep, but he was pretty sure Bunny would shoot him if he did. Instead, the top half of him was stretch across the cool surface. It felt nice, smelling faintly of coffee and cleaner. Rubbing his face against counter, he debated crawling the rest of the way on top of it when someone cleared their throat.

Begrudgingly, he lifted his head toward the noise to see a familiar tall man in an ink black fitted suit. The same overly handsome regular, Mr. Black. He came in most days at the same time, ordering sickeningly sweet concoctions and refusing any of Jack's attempts at flirting starting a conversation. The only reason Jack even knew his name was because he not so subtly read it off the man's debit card. Pitch Black. The name was suiting, but Jack just couldn't wrap his head around the sound of 'Jack Black'.

The only person in the shop Mr. Black talked too was Sandy and he didn't even work here! He was just a novelist that came in every day. He doesn't even talk! Jack talks. Pitch should try having a conversation with him instead. God, what is he saying. Sandy's a great guy and funny. Of course Mr. Black would talk with him.

But unlike most days, Mr. Black looked amused while he stared down wat him with one brow raised. His golden eyes were sparked with silent laughter as Jack was still sprawled across the counter. Was that a smile? That wasn't remotely fair. "Why are you so hot?" Jack grumbled, not bothering to take the man's order.

Jack froze against the counter top as he watched Pitch's face slowly morph into surprise. _Shit_. That was out loud. Loud enough that Sandy was no paying attention and he swore he could hear Bunnymund laughing in the back. Slowly, he pushed himself up with his face flaming hot. "So what would you like to drink today?" Yes. That's right. Play it cool.

The older man's eyebrows only rose in astonishment.

"Something sickly sweet again right?" Jack tried, wincing when Mr. Black's expression changed to where he looked mildly, mildly insulted. "O-or maybe some p-pitch black coffee, cause that's your name, right?" He let out a laugh that was fake enough to make him feel sick from hearing it.

God, kill him now. Pitch looked…well Jack wasn't sure what that emotion was but he didn't necessarily like it. At least not directed at him right at this moment, at least.

"No? How about a cold drink? Or maybe a hot one, but it's not like you need it, cause look at you." He actually gestured at the man. All of him. "No, wait, I don't mean that, not that you're not good looking, cause you really are, I mean like damn, you're hot, but no, I mean, you're in warm clothes?" As the words fumbled out of Jack's mouth, lacking a clearly needed filter, Pitch's mouth slowly grew slack as he gaped at Jack.

"Are they warm? They look warm. Maybe you shouldn't wear them if they're so warm. And they look too tight and-"

Jack stopped automatically when Pitch raised his hand, signaling for his silence. He actually stopped. Never before has Jack felt so religious until this moment. He wanted to say thank you, but he didn't want to break that magic Mr. Black's hand had on him.

"A large chocolate mocha frap with four extra pumps of chocolate."

…

…

"Oh…" Jack punched in the order and went to fixing the drink. This is the day he runs away. It's official. He can't work here anymore. He'll be lucky if Mr. Black doesn't put a sexual harassment charge on him.

"Can I just say something," Jack asked as he handed Pitch his drink.

Mr. Black quirked an eyebrow. "Depends, will I have to charge you with sexual harassment?"

The harassment charge is a highly possible thing now, but on the bright side, he's actually having a conversation with the man. "No, no, I just wanted to say sorry."

The man hummed, taking a sip of his drink. "Hm, no."

Wait, what? "No?!" Was this guy seriously not accepting his apology? Like, he had every right to, but seriously?

"No," Pitch repeated, licking the cream from his lips. Jack lost himself in that moment. "I believe you should apologize again."

"Again-"

"Over dinner tonight."

"-oh…okay." Dinner. Not a lawsuit. Is he dead? Did he drown in his iced coffee earlier?

"Shall I pick you up here, let's say, after closing?"

Jack nodded numbly.

"Good. See you tonight, _Jack_ ," Pitch purred with a smirk before turning on his heel and heading for the door. Pitch only gave Sandy a short nod before leaving.

"I got a date…" Jack mumbled, still staring at the door that Pitch just was at.

"That you do, kid," Aster commented as he wiped down the counter.

" _I_ got a date," he said a little louder. "I GOT a DATE!" He raised his arms up in conquest, Sandy copied him with a silent cheer as Jack scream incoherently.


End file.
